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Once Upon a Dystopia
Once Upon a Dystopia
Once Upon a Dystopia
Ebook29 pages21 minutes

Once Upon a Dystopia

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If someone observed us from afar, they could claim that our civilization was a civilization of walls. That was its main purpose. Such observers would likely not be able to explain why. I cannot either. Walls do not protect. They just trap and kill.

Three short stories about a dystopic future, about people turning into machines, about walls and fences, about the way history works. Three short stories about now.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 1, 2017
ISBN9781988762012
Once Upon a Dystopia
Author

Mileva Anastasiadou

Mileva Anastasiadou is a neurologist living and working in Athens, Greece. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in many journals, such as Menacing Hedge, the Molotov Cocktail, Fear of Monkeys, Infective Ink, Ofi press, Maudlin House and many others. She has published two books in Greek and a chapbook in English (Once Upon a Dystopia) by Cosmic Teapot Publishing.

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    Once Upon a Dystopia - Mileva Anastasiadou

    A Sunday Well Spent

    I once was human, but I no longer remember much of that season. I am now a machine. The usual kind, with gears, accessories and all. The kind that consumes energy and produces energy in another form, as the human body does, only without consciousness and emotions. Residues of my old form still remain, due to poor construction. This happens to most humans that transform into machines after all.

    The mutation is not as unusual as I once thought. Truth is, I once believed that this is all about a gene, since I watched machine people reproduce and give birth to new machines. I had not been accustomed to seeing the mutation develop gradually during life. I came to the conclusion that this had happened because I lived in a protected environment.

    Dad, there are children on the TV who are working. Should I be working too? I had asked.

    A Sunday well spent brings a week of content. My father tried to shun a direct answer.I wish the shops were open, though. I would buy you the best toy, he told me, smiling, and then he sang along with me one of my favorite tunes at the time:

    "Today is Sunday, Sunday ice cream. 

    All you hungry children, come and eat it up."

    I was certain then that all machine people are born by their likes, to serve the needs of the remaining population. Sometimes, very rarely though, some of them manage to escape their destiny, but life is predetermined for most of them. Soon after their birth, they are plugged in. Education, technical training, then a job. Οnce the engine breaks down to an unfixable point, they are unplugged.

    I am not sure when my mutation happened. It manifested slowly, without me noticing the

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